Artwork by Rida Abbasi
Artwork by Rida Abbasi

Everyone knows that everyone is dying.

As usual I imagine his death,

my falling to the damp floor of the hospital,

tying black curtains to the windows,

wearing gloves in the shower.

What would I do with his body?

I think maybe eat it.


I can’t tell him about the worm eye,

because to say it out loud would make it real.

All I can do is smell him and smell him.

This one— this single one, is alive.


On the volcano I feel the quietly vibrating

sex of the tectonic plates through my legs.

Cute nature is imminently not cute.

Hot death comes in, a tax avoider.

Hot death makes every spot of my skin prickle,

acid arousal.


If I bring the end of him up a bit,

then suddenly it is all blazing.

The cinnamon ash is blazing,

the heads twisting and pouring water.


Those messy organs, how nice.

That burnt black spot,

all the tastes coming from it.



About Rebecca Tamás 4 Articles
REBECCA TAMÁS was born in London and lives in Norwich, where she is studying for a PhD in Creative and Critical Writing at University of East Anglia. Her first poetry pamphlet, The Ophelia Letters, was published by Salt in 2013, and she has most recently been published in The White Review and Best British Poetry 2015. She is currently at work on a full length collection, which centres on witchcraft, difference, female alterity and strangeness. She tweets @RebTamas.